Alcatraz Season 2 - Going National
by Gabriel Seraph
Summary: Picking up where the one-season wonder "Alcatraz" left off after its abrupt ending in March 2012, this story chronicles the team's continued hunt for the remaining 63s - a task complicated by the knowledge that they will soon start appearing all around the country. During this season, one member of the team will be outed as a villain - but one 63 will prove a most important ally.
1. Enrico Pellesanti, Part I

AN: This story depicts a continuation of the Alcatraz story. I have chosen to start now in honor of the first anniversary of the Alcatraz premiere.

I am not Dan Brown, so I have no problem saying, any and all errors made in the story are my own.

Enjoy.

Episode 1 - Enrico Pellesanti

San Francisco General Hospital - March 27, 2012

The dark-haired, burly orderly pushed the bed down the hall and into the elevator. As soon as he was inside, he glanced down at the person on the bed, now covered up with respect to her recently deceased condition. He pulled the cover off her face, saw her deathly pallor, framed by close-cropped blond hair. _Ain't this a shame, _he thought to himself. _Such a pretty woman, and she had to squander it in a lethal_ _profession. _

The elevator door opened with a soft bell-tone, prompting the orderly to re-cover the woman's face as he wheeled her out the door and into the basement. Inside, the guard sat in his booth by the delivery door, eyes glued to the TV as it continued to cover the huge car chase that had just torn up the streets of downtown San Francisco that very morning. "How about that, eh?" remarked the orderly, with a slight New York accent, as he passed by and helped load the woman into a van bound for the medical examiner's lab.

"Bunch of fools, if you ask me," the guard answered. "But you gotta admit, there's no better way to make the four o'clock news than aping _Bullitt._"

The orderly shrugged and turned away, only to get called back as the van driver asked for his signature on the form. He signed it and the driver took it back, squinting at the signature. He snorted and said, "It's not exactly illegible, but I just can't read this. Can't even begin to pronounce this name."

"Oh, it's easy, actually," said the orderly. "Enrico. Enrico Pellesanti." He turned back and disappeared into the elevator once more.

* * *

Alcatraz Island - January 31, 1961

Dr. Lucy Sengupta, who would later be known under the surname Banerjee, dined with the Warden as they looked at the case file of Alcatraz Prison's latest permanent resident - a strapping twenty-nine-year-old man from Hell's Kitchen on Manhattan Island, transported across the country to serve his life sentence for the murder of seven rival mafiosi - one of which was actually an undercover FBI agent.

The Warden sneered down at the picture in the file - a picture of a man so criminal and youthful-looking, he'd been very appropriately nicknamed the Devil's Cherub. "I'm sure you're aware of the circumstances that brought him here," said the Warden. Lucy nodded silently. "Yes, terrible circumstances they were. But they are a fact of life where he comes from. I remember what it was like, growing up in Boston during Prohibition. Dreadful times."

Lucy took back the file and focused on a small line of print right at the bottom of the page. "It says here you specifically requested his transfer to this prison," she commented. "Why here, sir? Why not someplace closer to home for him, like Rikers Island or Sing Sing?"

The Warden smiled. "You know our prize prisoner, I assume? Well, this man has just as impressive a record - albeit a criminal one. He will prove most useful, just you wait and see."

"I'm sure he will," Lucy said. "From what I hear, he's a most unusual mafioso. He's more...shall we say, charismatic, than most."

A snort from the Warden came in response. "And what will charisma get you in this world?" he asked dryly. "Unless you are an actor or a dishonest politician - as redundant as that phrase typically is - the answer is nothing, Dr. Sengupta. Nothing." He wiped his mouth and stood up from the table. "Now, I am sure Mr. Pellesanti is sufficiently well-rested from his journey by now. Perhaps you may go and see him in your office." He left without another word.

* * *

Office of the San Francisco City and County Medical Examiner - March 28, 2012

Well after dark, the door to the medical examiner's lab was jimmied open to admit a woman who had been alive much longer than one would think upon looking at her. She crossed over to the rows of little metal doors behind which corpses were stored. Choosing carefully, she put down a large satchel, opened one such door, and pulled out the tray, on which the blond woman lay.

Lucy Banerjee reached down into her satchel and removed a syringe full of a hazy, grayish solution. Pulling the cover aside, she injected the contents of the syringe into the woman's carotid artery. She stood back and gave it a couple of seconds to take effect.

Rebecca Madsen gasped loudly, like so many other dead bodies do when they have re-awakened. She gazed around and took in her current surroundings. "Lucy?" she asked, finally. "Where am I?"

"Well, considering you've been dead for all of ten hours, where do you think?" Lucy was not in a mood to dawdle, as evidenced by her hurried motions as she dumped a set of clothes onto Rebecca. "Quick, put these on. We've got one more 63 left in the city."

"Tommy Madsen, right?" asked Rebecca, after putting on her clothes and following Lucy towards the back door.

"No," said Lucy. "But don't worry, Emerson is hunting for him as we speak. No, we believe this one is working in the hospital. If I'm not mistaken, he actually oversaw the transfer of your body to the medical examiner."

"And then what?" asked Rebecca, as they snuck out the back door and made their way towards the street. "Just wait for another one to turn up in town?"

Lucy sighed. "Not really. We've had some, er, new developments in the last 24 hours. I'll fill you in on the way back." She hailed a taxi and ushered Rebecca into the backseat. "Hyde Street Pier, please," she requested, raising her voice over the loud, jangly percussion of the old Genesis instrumental, "The Brazilian," emanating from the driver's stereo. "And could you please put up the divider? We have urgent business to discuss, and we'd like to keep it private, thank you very much."

* * *

Good story so far? R&R please!


	2. Enrico Pellesanti, Part II

Alcatraz Island, March 28, 2012

Doc Soto sat back in his big swivel chair, semi-consciously grazing on the fried greasiness of Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack. Hauser, who was in front of the big computer screen, quickly became irritated by the sound of Doc's chewing, and after about five minutes he turned around and grumbled, "Will you quit that?"

Doc put down his chicken and shrugged at Hauser. He cocked his head in that bizarre way of his and said icily, "Given that your partner is dead, I would think the last thing you would want to do is eat a midnight snack."

"I'm stress-eating," responded Doc. "That actually happens, you know." Defeated for the moment, Hauser turned back around and resumed his scanning of the computer screen. "I know what you're thinking," Doc called across the room. "You're still thinking I'm psychologically damaged or something like that. Well, even if I was, it's not really your business, is it?" No answer from Hauser. "Oh, right, FBI agent, Patriot Act. I forgot. So sorry."

Hauser sighed heavily. "Where is Lucy?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

At exactly that moment, Lucy walked in, with Rebecca in tow. Doc dropped his cardboard bucket in complete shock. "Rebecca!" he cried. "You're - you're...but how?"

Rebecca turned to Lucy, who nodded. Rubbing her neck on the injection site, she said, "Colloidal silver. Really works wonders. You should try it sometime."

"Touching as this reunion may be," Hauser commented dryly, "I believe we still have urgent work to do before we begin our...expansion of operations." He pulled up a file on the big screen. This depicted a youthful-looking man, with dark hair and an almost-angelic face. Rebecca was shocked to realize that he was, according to the text in the file, 31 years old. He looked ten years younger than that, at least.

"Enrico Pellesanti," announced Hauser. "The Devil's Cherub. Former Mafia, out of New York. Arrested for a very brutal massacre in December 1960, and-"

"-sent to Alcatraz under the direct request of Warden James," Doc finished. "And now we probably have an idea why."

Lucy nodded again. "Yes," she said. "No doubt one of the Warden's favorites, for whatever his plans were. I remember he received a great deal of silver injections in the last year before the disappearance."

Hauser opened a second file, this one containing a bit of security camera footage from SF General Hospital. "It seems our _cherub_ has found himself a new job. He's working in the hospital now. In fact, he was the one who loaded your body into the van for the coroner's office," he said to Rebecca. "But now comes the hard part. He's seen you dead, so you can't go after him. He no doubt will remember Lucy as well."

"So, who goes after him?" asked Rebecca.

"I will," said Hauser. "I can go undercover as a visiting surgeon. I've observed Dr. Beauregard enough times to know some of the basics of certain procedures."

"Sounds very risky," said Lucy.

"But if we capture him, it will of course be well worth it," said Hauser.

Lucy sighed, then reluctantly said, "Okay, I guess we don't have much choice. But be careful, Emerson. I'm sure you remember him from the prison. He was a real charmer. Very good at just...looping you in."

Doc tilted his head while he looked at Enrico's picture on the screen. "You know, I can kinda see where you're going with this. He does look very trustworthy. In fact, he kinda reminds me of the last guy who played Clark Kent."

Hauser and Lucy merely stared at him, blank as they always were when confronted with a comic-book reference.

* * *

Alcatraz Island, January 31, 1961

Enrico Pellesanti was pushed into Lucy's office by an armed guard, and seated in the chair in front of her desk. Lucy looked up from the man's file, which she had borrowed from the Warden, and saw him properly for the first time. Tall, muscular, youthful. And, if the story about his seven-man murder was true, then he really had earned his terrifying nickname.

In addition to all these physical details, Lucy noticed something that threw her somewhat. He was nervously fiddling with a plain wooden Catholic rosary, muttering what seemed to be prayers - although she couldn't tell exactly what he was saying, if anything at all, because of the low decibels at which his speech was being uttered.

"Mr. Pellesanti," Lucy began, pronouncing the name perfectly. "As far as I am concerned, everything that goes between us will remain in the strictest confidence. After all, I am the doctor and you are my patient, and that is the way this...relationship...will be carried out."

Enrico continued muttering, as if he were unaware of Lucy speaking to him.

"Are you pretending to be less intelligent than you really are?" Lucy asked coolly. "Is that why you keep ignoring me? I have much better interpersonal skills than any police officer or prison guard you will ever meet. You can speak your mind in here, and I will not stop you. Only if you threaten my life, or that of anyone else, including yourself, will I attempt to interfere with your privacy."

Lucy waited and got no answer. Enrico eventually ended his long string of mutters and placed the wooden rosary back around his neck.

"Are you a God-fearing man, Mr. Pellesanti?" Lucy asked, indicating the rosary.

"I didn't used to be," Enrico said, in an affable tone at odds with his uncouth New York accent.

"You mean, when you were working for the Mafia?" Lucy asked.

Enrico nodded. "It was only in the hospital bed when it started...becoming a little more clear to me."

"Hospital bed?"

"In New York," said Enrico. "When the cops got to me, they beat me really badly. I was bedridden for a week, then when I was released they blindfolded me and put me on a plane for Frisco."

"Really?" Lucy asked. There was no mention of this particular episode in his file, and Lucy was unsure if his story could be verified any other way. She decided to keep going, even though she was less than willing to just take his word for it. "So you say you saw God while you were, er, recovering?"

Enrico nodded again. "Exactly right. He's the only one who can help me now." He paused. "I beg for His mercy. Every night and every day. I just wish there was something I could do."

"I daresay they'll find a way here," said Lucy.

"As long as it's not whatever the Warden is doing with that guy in the infirmary," said Enrico.

"What are you talking about?" Lucy feigned ignorance.

"I heard tell about it from the guards on the way here," said Enrico. "Guy's totally healthy, and the Warden keeps sticking him in the infirmary and draining his blood for no reason."

Lucy nodded. "But you said you wished you could find something to do. To atone for your sins."

Enrico raised his eyebrow. "Well, I can't exactly 'atone for my sins,' as you say, if I'm being drained of life force every day, can I?"


	3. Enrico Pellesanti, Part III

SF General, March 30, 2012, 1:35pm

Hauser fumed internally at the fact that his undercover mission into the hospital had been delayed a full 24 hours. It had been necessary, though, so he could make a better impression on the hospital people. After all, it had been a very long time since he'd been undercover for anything. And this was a particularly big mission, with a very limited time frame in which to prepare. Dr. Beauregard had done his best to prepare him, though. _But if I had had just a little more time, it would be a more perfect job_, Hauser thought. _I still have trouble remembering certain anatomical terms. What's a vagus nerve? Maybe Lucy would know._

He approached the front desk and handed forward his false ID, depicting his credentials as "Dr. Beauregard." All it had taken was running some of the doctor's info through the computer, and tinkering with the details in random places before printing on a machine that had been surreptitiously lifted from the delivery line bound for a local DMV office. _Good God, whose idea was it to make me a Louisiana man?_ Hauser thought. _I could never fake a decent Cajun accent._ But he was able to get by, because unlike himself, none of the people in the hospital were trained to discern between accents. As far as they were aware, he was just a generic Southerner, albeit a brilliant one capable of advanced neurosurgery of the kind that most of the doctors and nurses had never seen before. _Just so long as I don't have to perform any of that,_ Hauser thought nervously, fingering the button on his black coat.

Back on the island, Rebecca glared at the window on the big screen that was displaying the live feed from Hauser's button cam, which was becoming intermittently black and shadowy as he rubbed it. "Dammit, stop doing that," she complained, as if he could hear her. Then she remembered he still had his cell phone on him, and sent him a text repeating her previous statement. If Hauser's phone camera had been active, Rebecca would have received an equally stern glare her way as he read the message. As it was, she would probably not have noticed such a glare anyway, because at that moment, Hauser's quarry came into view, striding through the hallway with surprising confidence for a man of such low status in the building. Finally able to see him clearly in life, Rebecca took a second to appreciate Enrico's presence on the screen. As with all the other 63's, he looked for all the world like a fit, able-bodied young man, but he had an easygoing demeanor lacked by most, if not all, of the ones she had previously encountered over the last two months.

Snapping herself out of the brief gap in concentration, Rebecca hurried sent Hauser another quick text message: "Drop phone now."

Hauser read the message, erased it, then complied with Rebecca's order, dropping the phone with almost pinpoint precision right at Enrico's feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Hauser apologized, in his best approximation of the slow, melodious tones of the New Orleanian he was making himself out to be. "I am just so clumsy, aren't I?"

"Hey, no worries, man," said Enrico brightly, dropping to his knees to pick up the phone himself. Dusting it off and handing it to its owner, he said, "I heard there was some bigtime doctor coming to visit the hospital. Name of Baudelaire or something similar. That wouldn't be you, by any chance, would it?"

Hauser smiled affably. "Close enough," he said. "Dr. Milton Beauregard." He offered his hand, and Enrico shook it.

"Wow," the big man said, as they both started walking down the corridor towards the front entrance. "Just...wow. I, uh, I don't really mean to gush, but I just never get to meet anybody in this place."

"It's quite all right," said Hauser, as the door opened in front of them. "Now that statement is no longer true. You should be happy."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," said Enrico, his hands waving wildly. _Apparently that particular stereotype is accurate_, Hauser thought to himself.

The conversation would have gone on longer if not for the sudden appearance of a tall blond man, who was walking by and accidentally tripped on a bump in the sidewalk, causing him to drop his coffee cup. The liquid inside splattered all over Enrico and Hauser, but the former got the full force of it. "Aw no, did I just-" the man began, before unexpectedly pulling out a match, lighting it on his stubbly cheek, and dropping it on Enrico's shoe. Hauser realized too late that the coffee didn't even smell like coffee, but rather like...

"...gas," he breathed, as Enrico's pants and scrubs caught fire. He dropped to the ground, rolling over on himself in an effort to put out the flames. Hauser started yelling for help and using his own coat to smother the flames further. Eventually, the job was done, and Enrico lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his chest covered in dark pink burns visible through the charred, tattered scrubs.

Rebecca, meanwhile, took back the keyboard from Lucy and rewound the video, right to the part where the coffee cup was dropped. She took a quick look at the man who had done the dropping, instantly confirming her worst fears by doing so. "Tommy..."

* * *

Three hours later, Hauser, having learned which room Enrico was recovering in, made his way upstairs through the hospital. As he entered the room, he quipped, "Are they gonna give you an employee discount?"

Enrico chuckled. "I wish. The crap wages I get wouldn't be nearly enough to cover my bills."

Hauser nodded, then looked around the room. No sign that anyone else, besides the actual doctors and nurses, had been in here to see him. "You don't have any friends around here?"

"They're all a long ways away," Enrico said. "My accent didn't give it away? I haven't been out of New York long enough to lose it."

"Guess I didn't notice," said Hauser.

Enrico's face darkened unexpectedly. "Well, I sure noticed when you were trying to get people's attention on the street, _Dr. Beauregard_," he said, almost snidely. "Or should I say, Officer Hauser?"

Hauser stiffened briefly before responding, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Oh no," whispered Rebecca, watching the scene from the control room. "His cover's blown."

"Give it a minute," said Lucy. "The situation is still salvageable."

"This is what you call 'salvageable?'" Rebecca hissed, gesturing furiously at the screen as the speakers relayed Enrico's latest sentence: "You've really gotten old, Hauser, you know that? You didn't think I wouldn't recognize your face?"

Hauser sighed. "You were supposed to recognize it, yes. I was here to take you away-"

"Away where?" yelled Enrico. "Maybe, before you try and take me away to that hellhole island of yours, maybe you should try and see if I'm really as much of a criminal as you think I am!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Hauser.

Enrico sighed. "I've changed. Ever since I was first locked up...I just wanted to help people, not hurt them."

Lucy turned to Rebecca. "Maybe I was right after all, wasn't I?"

Rebecca frowned. "He'd better not be faking us out. If he is...I'm going to get his ass, and get it good."

Doc chimed in, "I'm pretty sure you can take that to the bank."


	4. Enrico Pellesanti, Part IV

AN: Before I go on, let me just wish my thanks to the 823 people (at last count) who have taken a look at this story, making it my most viewed. I never thought I'd make a story this popular! And to those who've been waiting and wondering where the story's going next, I'm glad to finally get back to the weird and wonderful world of Alcatraz at last.

Alcatraz Island, February 7, 1961

Lucy barreled down the corridor as fast as her high heels could carry her and pounded on the Warden's door with a hand that also held a crudely folded paper. The paper bore Enrico Pellesanti's medical records, which now included a handwritten note from Dr. Beauregard that made Lucy see red. A full minute of insistent knocking was finally answered by the Warden with a strangely serene query of "What's the hurry, Dr. Sengupta?"

"I think you know full well!" Lucy yelled at him, brandishing Enrico's records in the Warden's face and pointing at Dr. Beauregard's note. "What is the meaning of this? Didn't I advise you against this blood-draining thing of yours? It's not good for healthy people to be doing this, you know!"

"Believe me," the Warden said, still in the same placid tones, "I know. I figured it out after the hundredth time you voiced your opinion on this subject."

Lucy redoubled her efforts. "And now you've sentenced yet another inmate to this...this torture. If I didn't know any better, sir, I'd swear you were intentionally trying to torture them and remove their will to live. Or perhaps remove their strength so they couldn't even attempt to escape."

The Warden smiled darkly. "That would be a wonderful side effect."

Shocked at his callousness, Lucy turned on her heel and exited the room without another word. On her way back to her own office, she detoured over to the infirmary and found Enrico lying on the bed, pale and clammy, a bandage attached to the inside of his elbow. "I'm too late, aren't I?" Lucy sighed. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Believe me, I tried to stop them. I'll keep trying as long as I have to. Trust me."

Enrico nodded weakly, not really buying a word of it. As intelligent and influential as Lucy was, he knew there was no getting around the Warden and his unknown plans.

* * *

San Francisco General Hospital, March 30, 2012

11pm came and went, and at that time, Enrico was finally cleared to leave the hospital. When confronted about his true identity, Hauser had neither confirmed nor denied that Enrico spoke the truth, but he knew what he knew, and he knew that he had just been speaking to Emerson Hauser. But, in the interest of self-preservation, he dropped the subject and silently allowed Hauser to leave him be.

He hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the ferry terminal for Alcatraz. The driver smirked and said, "You know, I've had to drive a lot of people to and from that same terminal almost every night for the last two months. Is there some kind of movie shoot going on or something?"

"I could tell you," Enrico answered cryptically, "but then I'd have to kill you." This elicited a loud chuckle from the driver, who merely turned up his stereo. "The Brazilian" was playing once more. Although Enrico thought he would never grow used to the sometimes-dreadful noise that passed for music in this day and age, for some reason the jangly synthpop tune calmed him, made him feel at ease.

Enrico sat and waited for quite some time on a bench by the ferry terminal, right next to a closed-down kiosk that sold pretzels and hot dogs to tourists during the day. At the stroke of midnight, Hauser appeared on the spot, having just arrived by speedboat from Alcatraz. "Ah, finally here to listen, are ya?" Enrico asked.

Hauser merely shook his head in exasperation and spun Enrico around, slapping handcuffs on his wrists. "Do I have to say it?" he grumbled, as he slipped a blindfold over the man's eyes. Enrico started rattling off a string of aggrieved swear words as Hauser placed him in the backseat of a waiting Crown Vic and then got into the driver's seat. "Cover your ears, Rebecca," Hauser said snidely into his mike. "These are not words for a lady by any means."

After a very long drive (Enrico tried to keep track of which way the car was turning to guess his location, but soon lost any idea after realizing he'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge), Hauser stopped, let Enrico out, and frog-marched him down a long hall, eventually removing his blindfold and letting the sharp, harsh lights of New Alcatraz filter in. "Hey, Hauser, whaddaya think you're doing here? I'm trying to tell you, I wanna help!" But Hauser merely pushed Enrico into his cell and shut the door loudly, almost waking up Jack Sylvane three doors down.

Enrico slumped in his seat and sighed heavily as the lights went out. But his cell remained well-lit. The reason for this lay in the odd silvery glow filtering through his fingers, which intensified as he placed his hands on the bars of his cell.

"What the hell?" Enrico muttered as he examined his hands, watching as the glow shivered out the further into his cell he went. "What the hell did that goddamn Warden do to me?"


	5. Enrico Pellesanti, Part V

Doc's Apartment, March 31st, 2012

Nobody else knew it, but Doc had long since figured out how to hack into Hauser's video feeds undetected. On this night, he was going to discover two very interesting details. First, the existence of a hidden New Alcatraz, somewhere, someplace. Second, the fact that all the 63s were being re-imprisoned in the New Alcatraz.

Including its newest permanent resident, Enrico Pellesanti.

And that wasn't all. Within seconds of Enrico's lockup, the lights went out, and his hands immediately started glowing in the dark, in an ugly grayish-white color. It reminded him strongly of the colloidal silver that reportedly was being put in the inmates' bloodstreams.

"The hell is this?" Doc whispered to himself, grabbing a DVD and recording two minutes' worth of Enrico's shining hands onto it. Once this was done, he tore out of the apartment as fast as his large body would go, and immediately made his way down to the pier to wait on board Hauser's speedboat, which was sitting there entirely unattended. Doc knew that it was impossible to start the boat without Hauser pressing his thumb to a fingerprint scanner by the ignition, so there was no reason for Hauser to keep it any more secure than that.

He didn't have long to wait. By two o'clock, Hauser returned, and did a double take upon seeing his boat occupied. "Doc? What are you doing here?"

"Take me to the island," Doc said. "There's something I thought you would like to see."

"On the island?"

"Well, it's where the computers are, isn't it?" Doc pointed out.

Hauser sighed and turned the boat on. Once they were inside the command center on the island, Doc stuck the DVD into the nearest optical drive, and played what he had recorded just an hour earlier.

Once the two-minute video had ended, Hauser asked, "How did you get this footage? This is private; you shouldn't have been able to access it."

"Never mind that," said Doc. "And that's not the point. Since when do we have a 63 with radioactive hand disease, huh?"

Hauser stared at the freeze-framed image. "Radiation? No. This isn't radiation. This is...something else."

"You mean the colloidal silver?"

"Probably," Hauser conceded.

Lucy stepped in and offered her own two cents. "Probably? I would say, 'certainly.' What else could be causing this?"

* * *

Alcatraz Island, March 20, 1963

The Warden turned to Dr. Beauregard and smiled. "Soon I will be able to initiate the plan at last," he said. "And Enrico Pellesanti, our infamous Devil's Cherub, will be most useful in executing it."

"Pray tell, exactly how will he be useful?" asked Beauregard. "Could you at least give me some clue as to what you are planning?"

The Warden shook his head. "I don't want to have to kill you, Doctor. Suffice it to say, it will change the course of history forever. The Devil's Cherub will soon become the Devil's Beacon, as it were."

Beauregard wisely gave up on any further attempt to comprehend what the Warden was trying to say. He merely responded with a polite "If you say so, sir."

* * *

New Alcatraz, March 31, 2012

"'Devil's Beacon?'" repeated Hauser, unsure he had heard correctly.

"Yes," said Dr. Beauregard. "That's precisely what Warden James told me. And, in typical fashion, he left it at that."

Lucy nodded to herself as she examined the footage once again on the iPad Doc had lent her. "Is it possible he was given something else besides the colloidal silver?" she asked. "Is there any substance that reacts to the silver's presence?"

Beauregard thought for a second. "I can only think of one, but...no, it can't be. It's too rare."

"What. Is. It?" Hauser demanded.

"Silver isn't the only metal we have in colloidal form," Beauregard said. "This appears to be colloidal platinum. It serves two functions - one, to glow when colloidal silver is close by, and two, to increase muscle tone and physical strength. Like I said, though, it is extremely rare. In fact, as far as I'm aware it wasn't even discovered until the 80s."

Hauser shook his head. "I think we're past the point of being surprised about scientific anomalies of any kind, Doctor," he said. "Another colloidal metal. This just gets better and better."

"Damn right it does," said Rebecca, speaking up for the first time all day. When everyone else looked at her funny, she pressed on. "Think about it. Enrico is essentially a manmade colloidal silver detector. We can use him to help us find 63s. It'll be so much easier this way, especially since we're gonna have to travel up and down the country to find the rest of them."

Beauregard took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. "The detective is right," he said. "Enrico would be very useful to your undertaking."

"I don't think so," Hauser said. "The man was in Alcatraz for a reason."

Lucy scoffed. "You weren't there to see him in a better light, Emerson," she said. "Every time we spoke, he told me how he wanted to make up for all the wrong he had done in his life. He wanted to make peace with God."

"And then he got strapped down to a bed in the infirmary repeatedly over a two-year period, so he could get his blood taken for reasons entirely unknown at the time," Hauser pointed out. "Somehow, I don't think any of the good in him could have survived that kind of experience."

"Cynicism is getting us nowhere," Doc said. "I'm up for this. We'll need all the help we can get, right?"

"Right," agreed Rebecca.

Hauser sighed, defeated. "Fine. If you'll excuse me..." He walked out the door and up to Enrico's cell.

While they waited, Rebecca turned to Lucy and asked, "What was it the doctor said about this platinum stuff? Did he say it improves muscle tone?"

Lucy passed Doc back his iPad. "Yes," she said. "You know, Enrico was no stick figure back in the prison, but he sure seems to have bulked up considerably since..." Her voice trailed off.

"Really?" asked Rebecca. "Interesting."

Hauser then returned with Enrico in tow, and proceeded to remove his handcuffs. "Good news," he said. "You're coming with us. We may have some use for you. Guess you'll get your chance to help after all."

Enrico rubbed his wrists. "Anything I can do, I guess."

Doc smiled. "Hey, don't worry, this isn't an April Fool's joke or anything. You're really gonna get to come with us."

"April Fool's?" Enrico asked. "That's not today, is it? I've kinda lost track of the days."

"Do we really have time for this banter?" Hauser asked snidely. "We have to get back to the island and make sure there's no more prisoners out there."

Rebecca frowned. "I think we know the answer to that question, though. This whole business is going national."

Hauser nodded gravely. "Heaven help us all."

-End of Episode 1-


	6. Alexander Bohm, Part I

Episode 2 - Alexander Bohm

Snoqualmie, Washington, April 9, 2012

The picturesque Pacific Northwest town, best known as a filming location of the popular series _Twin Peaks, _was not terribly known for crime, other than those featured on the show. But now, there was real crime going on. And the residents were not happy to see a big, dark-haired man, with a strange grayish light faintly visible from his fingertips, angrily rushing a thin platinum-blond man and tackling him to the ground. Some were quick to write it off as perhaps another movie shoot, except there were none scheduled for that day.

Especially none that involved Enrico Pellesanti strangling the blond man. Probably they wouldn't even care that he was only fighting in self-defense.

Airborne over Northern California, April 3, 2012

Enrico fidgeted slightly in his seat, unsure of how to get comfortable in the plush leather. He'd never experienced such a luxurious accommodation before, and he wanted to get as much out of it as possible, because he was unsure how long Hauser would be willing to keep him free.

Turning to look at Doc across the aisle, Enrico asked, "So which of my old war buddies will we be meeting today?"

Doc took a look at the single sheet of paper he'd been given. "Alexander Bohm, prisoner #2643. I'm sure you remember him."

"Oh, yeah," muttered Enrico. "Nasty piece of work. I'd always wondered why they didn't just execute him. Of all the prisoners, he was the one we all hoped would just get executed one day."

"With a record like that, I can easily imagine why," said Doc. He then put aside his paper and settled back in his seat. Enrico did the same, and put on some music on the iPod he'd borrowed from Rebecca so he could sample some of the modern music he'd missed out on in the last 49 years. After cycling through the song list, he finally selected "The End of the Innocence" by Don Henley. It was a soft enough song musically that it reminded him somewhat of the music from his own time, and yet the lyrics betrayed the darkness and danger of the new age, even a new age that had come and gone and been replaced by an even darker one.


	7. Alexander Bohm, Part II

Alcatraz Island, December 1, 1962

Alexander Bohm was frog-marched into the prison for the first time only a few months before it was due to close. Nevertheless, Number 2643 was going to become one of the most notorious prisoners in Alcatraz history in the short time he was to be incarcerated there. The fact that he had a nasty reputation prior to going into the prison didn't help matters at all. In fact, some people (namely, Lucy) wondered why he was being sent there. Sure, the Warden seemed to operate on his own independent plane of existence, but this decision really pushed the boundaries of sanity.

As Bohm was led down to the psych ward in a straitjacket, he passed through the first floor of gen pop, and saw a number of prisoners glancing out at the new arrival. All of them turned away from him, and he them. Except one. Clarence Montgomery. Bohm looked intently at him, sized him up. Realizing what he was doing, the guards muscled him further down the hall, so Clarence was out of sight.

Inside the psych ward, the Warden greeted Bohm personally. "Welcome to Alcatraz, 2643," he said. "We sincerely hope you enjoy your stay here, and that your fellow inmates enjoy your company. Of course, neither of those hopes is likely to come true, but I still insist on saying this to all the most special new arrivals."

"Special?" asked Bohm. "You really think I'm special? This is a trick, isn't it? You can't fool me."

"You have no idea," said the Warden. "You know exactly what you can do, but even then you don't know how you can maximize your potential. But I do. Stick with me if you want to learn. Good day." He picked up his hat and left the room.

Seattle, Washington, April 4, 2012

The plane landed at SeaTac International in a flurry of wind and rain, disgorging its five passengers, who ran to the waiting Suburban as quickly as possible. Rebecca spoke up as the SUV peeled out across the wet runway and made its way towards I-5. "So remind me," she said, "this Alexander Bohm, what was it he did?"

Doc shook his head. "They could never prove exactly what he did, but they knew he did it just from his fingerprints. Otherwise, nobody knew exactly how he killed his victims. He's kinda gone down as an urban legend in the last sixty years because of this. Some said he was a vampire. Some said he drugged his victims with some kind of poison. Some said he stole some experimental something from the government and used that to kill. Either way, there's no survivors."

"So you're saying we have no idea what we're up against?" asked Enrico. "Well, that's a fine way to go into battle."

Lucy frowned in thought. "Enrico, you never got a chance to talk to him in prison? You never asked him how he did it?"

Enrico laughed sharply. "Ask some guy from the psych ward how he killed people? You're kidding, right? I'd never get answers out of a guy like Bohm. And as far as I'm aware he never attacked anybody while inside, so...pretty much all I got was the, what did you call it, Doc? 'Urban legend?'"

The Suburban hummed along up I-5 into the city. Hauser rubbed his eyes as he read the current case file on Lucy's iPad. "Well, at least now we know where our boy is striking," he said. "A mysterious death in Snoqualmie and nobody can figure out the COD. Sounds just like Bohm."

Doc glanced out the window. "Hey, what if this guy is a vampire? You think all we'll have to do is corner him and wait for sunrise?"

"We are not living in a fantasy world, Doc," Hauser said. "Sure, we have colloidal silver and platinum and time travel, but I'm still reasonably confident vampires don't exist."

Snoqualmie, Washington

Alexander Bohm stood behind the bar and expertly tossed the various implements of bartending in the air as he made people's drinks. He had only been in town a month and had never done this job before, but he'd found it surprisingly easy. _Of course it was_, he thought. _I am superior, after all._ Everybody loved him there, and he always got the job done right.

But he could never get through the week without murdering one customer. For this reason, he kept two bottles of gin right next to each other at all times. One was for the rest of the people to drink and be merry. The other was carefully contaminated.

Bohm cast his eyes around the bar and soon spotted a great target. An Asian man with glasses and a fedora. The guy's order was surprisingly mundane - a Tom Collins. But Bohm was grateful for that. It gave him the chance to serve him a poisoned drink. "Here you go," he said, finishing the drink. "Bottoms up." Bohm smiled as his unwitting victim downed the booze. _Just about three hours to go. If only I could see it happen._


End file.
